Those that came before, Those that went ahead 7

Feel the woodman’s axe
Hacking at the threads of fate
All severed in time

Blade slices, blood flows
There is no cry of anguish
The three cuts end all

Grandfather’s soul breaks
I stare agape at the loss
My foe’s strike, a mercy

We do not fear death
We fear that which lies beyond
Who can truly know?

Sickness consumes us
Corruption eats at the soul
Cut it out with steel